


the kindness of strangers

by simplyclockwork



Series: Tumblr Inspired/Prompted Sherlock Fics - Part One [36]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23266957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyclockwork/pseuds/simplyclockwork
Summary: Prompted from a list of prompts on tumblr by @dreamingunderafigtree:7. You both do the side-to-side dance when you try to pass them in the grocery store aisle.14. They cover the small amount of change you are short on for a purchase.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Tumblr Inspired/Prompted Sherlock Fics - Part One [36]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1528859
Comments: 14
Kudos: 63





	the kindness of strangers

The man in front of him was short, looked rather sharp in his button-up and military-style haircut, and very much in Sherlock’s way.

“Ah, excuse me,” the man’s voice was apologetic, friendly, as he went to shift to the side. Failing to anticipate his movement, Sherlock went the same direction, then immediately moved to the right. The man followed, his face going abruptly red when they ended up face-to-face once more. 

“Bollocks,” he said, and Sherlock’s eyes widened at the casual curse. Exasperated, he stopped moving, falling still. The man did the same, leaving them standing in front of one another. The man offered a chagrined grin and nodded past Sherlock. “Well, excuse me.” He tilted his head, moving to angle basket around the detective. “Thanks for the dance,” he added on his way past, prompting a light flush to Sherlock’s pale face. 

“Er, sure,” he replied, caught off guard by the man’s easy comments. The man shot him a smile, a raised eyebrow, and sidled past, marching off down the aisle. He walked with stiff-backed posture, short legs moving in crisp strides. He was leaning on a cane now, but it hadn’t seemed necessary during their encounter.

 _Military man,_ Sherlock mused, narrowing his eyes at the man’s back, watching him pick up several canned beans. _Recently invalided home, going by the fading tan lines. Limp—psychosomatic?_ The man seemed to consider the beans, teeth sinking into his bottom lip in a way Sherlock found particularly fetching. He put back the more expensive brand, dropping one of the generic cans into his basket. 

_Military pension. Unfortunate._ No sooner had the thoughts entered his head when the man turned, found Sherlock staring, and raised an eyebrow. Sherlock felt his face burn and quickly walked away in the opposite direction. 

He could have sworn he heard a chuckle drift after him. 

By the time he had reached the checkout, shifting toward the self-serve aisle to avoid the longer lines, Sherlock had managed to soothe the awkward interaction from his mind. 

Until he realized he had forgotten his wallet and only had about ten pounds on him. 

Staring down at his bagged items and the _No Cash_ sign on the check-out, Sherlock let out a long sigh. Of course. It was just that kind of day, wasn’t it? Reaching out, he began to load the items back into his basket when a light touch on his arm made him pause.

“Forgot your wallet, huh?” 

Startled, Sherlock’s head whipped around to address the speaker.

It was the man from the aisle, with the dancing and the beans. Of course—of _course_ it was.

“Ah,” Sherlock began, and the man smiled. It was disarming, genuine and, most importantly, not the kind of look people usually directed toward him. 

“Here, let me.” The man bumped him lightly with his hip, scooting Sherlock over. “Hope you don’t mind if I add my stuff on, just to make it easier.”

“Oh,” Sherlock replied, blinking as the man rang through his paltry groceries. “Sure?” The can of beans, cheap pasta, some tomato sauce. The smallest milk Sherlock had ever seen. One loaf of cheap white bread. His throat tightened at the obviously necessary frugality of the stranger. Yet, here he was, offering to pay for Sherlock’s much more expensive groceries. “No, that’s not... that’s not necessary. I can just come back with my card, and—”

The man waved his protests away, dropping the milk into a bag separate from Sherlock’s items. “Nevermind that,” he said, smiling that brilliant little smile. “If you can’t help others, what’s the point?” 

Sherlock stared at the man, lost for words. The man chuckled at his blank face and paid for the groceries. There was a brief moment where doubt flickered over his face, dulling the smile for a moment, but it faded once the transaction was approved, following a minor, short argument between the man and the chip and pin machine.

Sherlock found it incredibly endearing. “Thank you,” he said, scooping up his groceries as he and the man walked out of the store together. Standing outside the entrance, Sherlock fidgeted, hesitant. The man was looking at him, face tilted up, the afternoon sun painting his features with soft warmth. Sherlock blurted the words out before he could stop himself.

“Let me pay you back!” His face flushed for the third time since almost running the man down in the canned goods aisle. But the man shook his head.

“No, that’s not necessary,” he said. “Please, just pass it on.” 

Sherlock stared at him, frowned, worrying his bottom lip with a finger. The man had an immense amount of pride. Taking in his stiff stance and the embarrassed way he tried to tuck the medical-style cane against his leg as if hiding it, Sherlock knew he would never accept his money.

“I—” he began, paused, and huffed a frustrated sigh. “At least let me take you for dinner.” The man seemed to consider, hesitant, and Sherlock hurried to add, “please? It would please me greatly if you accepted my invitation.” 

The man grinned again, his smile wide and bright. “All right, fine,” he replied. “If you insist.”

Sherlock smiled back, feeling an unfamiliar warmth blossom in his chest. “Oh, I do, mister…?”

Sticking out his hand, the man introduced himself, “Watson. John Watson.” 

“Sherlock Holmes,” Sherlock replied, taking the hand in his. John’s grip was firm and warm, and Sherlock wondered if the rest of him was just as sturdy. He wondered how he might find out.

“Pleased to meet you, Mister Holmes,” John said, and Sherlock released his hand with a final, lingering squeeze.

“Please, call me Sherlock.” 

John’s eyes glimmered, and his fingers drifted over Sherlock’s before his hand fell back to his side. “Only if you call me John.” 

Sherlock nodded. “Of course. _John.”_


End file.
